


Damaged Goods

by that_one_67_impala



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Broken Bones, Bruises, Detective Wade Wilson, Hurt Peter, Loss of Trust, M/M, PTSD, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is a Little Shit, Physical Abuse, SVU - Freeform, Sassy Peter, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Trust Issues, Underage Rape/Non-con, physical abuse mention, rape mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_67_impala/pseuds/that_one_67_impala
Summary: After being raped and abused by his boyfriend for years, Peter finally manages to involve the police when he's confronted at the hospital. While searching for his rapist, he grows close to the NYPD SVU detectives; one, in particular, Wade Wilson. As the case drags on, the two grow close, learning that people can be trusted, and can be loved while still being broken. They learn that no one is ever beyond fixing, even themselves.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! So sorry I haven't updated DYBIL yet, I got inspiration for this story so I'll jump around from one to the other. Sorry for the long wait! Before you read, this one is very VERY angsty and has limited fluff as of right now. Also- I think this is the longest single chapter I've ever written. So enjoy!

It couldn't have been later than four a.m. when Wade's phone started buzzing on the bedside table. Bucky groaned on the other line as he waited for his partner to pick up the phone, obviously still half asleep. "Wade, hey. We got a situation. Make your way to Queens General Center Hospital I'll fill you in when you get there." 

Wade had barely latched onto what Bucky had said, “Wait- run that by me again, Buck? What’s going on?” He mumbled into the phone as he put it on speaker, slipping into a nearby pair of jeans and a tight black tee, pocketing his badge and wallet as he moved to the door, slipping into hits combat boots. 

Bucky murmured something on the other line to one of the doctors at the hospital before returning to the conversation, “A kid came into the ER with intense internal bleeding, broken ribs, cuts everywhere. We had him take a rape kit and it tested positive. We can hardly keep him in the hospital, he won’t talk to me or the other detectives or any male doctors. You have to come try.” In the background, there was a muffled curse and a door slamming. “He’s only eighteen, Wade.” 

Wade sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t the first rape and physical abuse case he and Bucky had done over the years of being partners and in SVU doing these types of things. It was both a routine and not. Each case with rape and abuse had the same bottom line of what happened, but not the same means or the same type of person that did it. Which is why the victim is so crucial in catching the abuser or the rapist. 

Bucky nodded to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, okay. Get here soon.” He managed to keep the kid there somewhat easily. He ushered Wade into the kid’s room when he got there before leaving them be. 

“Who’re you.” Peter huffed, pulling his knees to his chest. God, he was absolutely covered in bruises. 

Wade was about to ask Bucky more questions but was quickly pushed into the room and left alone with the kid. Determined to look somewhat held together and not like he’d just been woken up after sleeping four hours, he sat in a chair only a couple feet away from the kid’s hospital bed. “Name’s Wade. I’m from the Special Victims Unit. We deal in mainly rape and abuse cases.” He told the kid truthfully, “What’s your name?” He tried to keep his voice soft and low, non-threatening as he didn’t know what this kid had been through. 

Peter shifted uncomfortably when Wade talked about dealing with rape and abuse cases, wrapping an arm around his own ribs as the other wrapped around his knees that were hugged to his chest. “Peter,” He answered softly, looking up at Wade. He was attractive, no doubt. Blonde hair and bright blue eyes, a contrast to Peter’s doe brown eyes and dark brown hair. Probably about six-foot-two, somewhere in the range of two hundred and fifty pounds... Peter was good with math like that. He had to be, with his experiences. Peter tried not to let it remind him in any way of his abuser. “You here to give me another rape kit?” He practically spit out, disgusted at the word and the thing itself, “Or just make friendly chat about my abuse history.” 

Wade tried not to get snarky back at the kid, knowing exactly what he’s been through. He instead took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “I’m not going to give you another rape kit. I’m sorry you had to take one at all, honestly. You’re, what? Eighteen? You shouldn’t be in here.” He told him truthfully.  

Peter scoffed softly, “Yet, here I am.” He shrugged slightly before the arm around his ribs tightened ever so slightly. 

Wade, having had practice in kids like Peter with that intense flight-of-fight look lingering in their eyes and the jittery reactions, put his hands flat out in front of him as he stood, taking a small step towards Peter. “Can I look?” He asked, nodding towards his ribs. 

Peter doesn’t know why he trusted him. He’d only just met him, he was taller and more muscular than ninety-percent of the other men there, doctors or not, and reminded him eerily of his abuser. Yet, he nodded and laid down on the bed, hands at his sides; giving his full trust to this practical stranger. 

Wade kept his hands out in front of him until he was beside Peter’s bed, fingertips barely grasping the bottom hem of the boy’s tee shirt, pulling them away as he saw him flinch. “Okay, I’m just going to put this up, alright? I need to see how bad your bruises are.” He assured over and over that that’s all he was going to do before Peter nodded and let him pull the shirt up to his collar. 

There were scattered bruises and scars all over the boy’s abdomen, all ranging from days old, to months old. The bruises were all extremely discolored, obvious signs that it was a deliberate hit to the same sensitive area repetitively. There were various different scars that looked like they were either from glass cutting him on accident in a fight or ‘accidental’ ones from punches ripping the skin. The only way they could do that, however, is if there’s enough force and very little blowback. Meaning Peter was either unconscious or tied up. 

The thought of this poor kid being tied up or beaten in his sleep until he was covered in blood made Wade want to puke. He let the kid put his shirt back down before pointing to his pants. “This is going to suck but I need you to take those off so I can see how bad the bruising is there. It’ll only be a minute and if you need me to stop I will, okay?” It takes a minute before Peter nods slowly, slowly pushing his sweatpants off his legs to hand around his ankles.  

Wade was more than thankful that Peter’s boxers were just short enough that he wouldn’t have to take them off.  

Once more Wade was met with dark arrays of bruises in all colors scattered over the boy’s thighs and hips. He almost missed it, the tiny little slit-like scars on his mid thighs. Wade was about to ask the kid what happened when two thoughts dawned on him.  _One: Wade_ _,_ _you_ _dumbass, you could trigger him. You don’t ask a kid in the hospital for rape and physical abuse why there are cuts on his thighs._   _Two: He cuts, Wade. The kid’s been through so freaking much how else would you expect him to let himself go? Relax? He’s in an abusive environment, this guy wouldn’t look twice at his thighs for cuts unless he knew. Which he probably didn’t._  

Wade let Peter pull his sweats back up as he backed up again, sitting in the chair a mere three feet away. He studied Peter for a minute. He wouldn’t look at him, kept his eyes straight down at his hands as he crossed his legs, winced, then hugged them to his chest. Poor kid, he can’t even sit with his legs crossed without hurting.  

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Wade asked after a comfortably long silence, watching the boy closely.  

Peter tensed instantly, a look of fear shining in his eyes before it faded, “U-Um, no...” He shuddered a bit at the question. 

Wade felt instantly horrible for asking, realizing that the kid was probably staying mostly with his abuser. “No parents or aunt or anything you can stay with? If not, you can stay down at the station,” He assured softly, not wanting the kid to feel helpless. 

Peter thought for a moment before shaking his head softly, “N-No. My parents died when I was little. I live with my aunt but I can’t... I can’t let her see me like this,” He whispered. 

 _Shit,_  Wade cursed to himself,  _This_ _kid’s_ _got next to nothing._  He moved to put a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder but the boy jolted away from the hand, flying right out of the bed and landing with a – _thump-_  on the tiled floor. His eyes were white with fear and Wade could see his lungs straining against the broken and reset ribs as he tried to defer from real and fake. 

Wade was on his feet in seconds after Peter had flown to the floor, crouched down a few feet in front of him, “Hey, Peter. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s just me here, no one’s going to get to you, okay? You’re safe, you’re at the hospital. I’m detective Wilson from the SVU unit of NYPD. You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated this over and over until he saw Peter relax and hug his knees to his chest once more. 

Once he was sure it was safe for him and Peter both, he scooted closer to the kid, sitting beside him and putting an arm around his shoulders gently. Almost instantly Peter turned into Wade’s chest, leaning into him and letting out a large sigh of relief that made his ribs groan. But he didn’t care, he finally felt safe. For the first time in four years, he felt  _safe._  

 _“_ You can stay with us at the station, okay? We can get you some pain meds for the broken ribs and other bruises and sprains. We’ll get you a good lawyer, too, and let your aunt know what happened and that you can’t be bombarded, but we’ll let her see you if you want, once she’s calmed down about the situation a bit.” Wade promised, rubbing Peter’s arm gently for comfort. Peter nodded slightly and yawned softly before rubbing his jaw.  _Poor kid,_  Wade thought. 

“Here, c’mon,” He helped Peter up, keeping an arm around the boy. “What do you think about heading back to the station? We can get you something to eat, anything you want, and get you set up so you can get to sleep?” He offered, steadying the boy that was definitely too tired to stand on his own. Peter just gave a small nod, not particularly caring where he slept as long as it was in the precinct and safe. 

 

Somehow, evading all doctors, nurses, and staff, Wade carried the boy out to the cruiser and laid him down in the back with a blanket draped over him while Bucky checked him out of the hospital.  

Peter whimpered softly, shivering when he was brought out of the cruiser and into the precinct, not having been braced for the brittle cold of late October in Manhattan. Goosebumps rose on his skin from the ‘walk’ (Wade had carried him bridal style, though he would never let Peter know that) into the station. Wade made sure to get him a nicer cot, a plush blanket, and a good pillow to sleep with only after Peter had gotten something to eat. 

Wade sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the doorframe of the room Peter was sleeping in, keeping an eye on him just in case. People with PTSD, especially recent developed PTSD and people who haven’t learned how to express it, are known to have night terrors and there was no way in hell Wade was going to let this small kid deal with those on his own when he himself can hardly deal with them. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” Bucky asked softly, pulling Wade from his thoughts as he handed him a fresh coffee. Bucky’s hair was a matted mess that looked as if it had been attempted to straighten and ultimately failed. He was in a maroon red button up and dark jeans, with boots on instead of his regular shoes. He had obviously been woken up with a call as well. At least he looked better than Wade who had large bags under his eyes and creases in his forehead from worry and concern for this boy, he was in just a black tee that hugged his muscular frame and lighter jeans than Bucky’s, but still dark nonetheless. 

Wade tossed away the cold coffee he had been holding in the trash and gladly took the new cup, knocking back a good portion of it and sighing again before he could tear his eyes away from the boy to look at Bucky. “I’m doing pretty shitty,” He sighed, before deciding to elaborate, “I mean, I know we’ve done cases like this before, but they haven’t been bad like this. I know this even isn’t so bad in general but this kid... He’s so young and so broken and bruised and...” He glanced back at the frail boy sleeping soundly on the cot, finally looking peaceful. 

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Bucky finished for him, now both looking at the small teen curled up on his side in a defensive position. Bucky didn’t need to finish the sentence for Wade, they both knew what he was going to say. It needed to be said regardless. So many things in their department and their cases they work go unsaid so nothing will be unsaid between them. It’s a deal they’ve had going for years, not to leave anything unsaid. 

“Jesus the kid’s eighteen. Barely. He shouldn’t be in here for anything, let alone rape and abuse from someone he trusted.” Wade sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before scrubbing his hand down his face, his blue eyes darkened with sorrow and sympathy for this boy. 

The two stood there for a few more moments before Bucky was called away. No one dared to pull Wade from this child, they knew he was going to do his damndest to make sure this case was settled and closed as soon as possible and that puke was behind bars. No matter what it took. 

 

Peter woke a little later to Wade screaming at something. Evidently, someone trying to force themselves in to see Peter. He rubbed his eyes with a kitten-like yawn and stood, leaning against the door-frame. Of course, it was MJ. Peter tapped Wade’s shoulder from behind, “’S okay, she’s a friend.” He whispered, rubbing his eyes again as he took MJ back to his bed area to talk. 

“Peter, oh my god, what happened?” She asked worriedly, going to touch and prod at him to see if he was okay but Peter had stopped her before she could lay a finger on him. 

“I’m fine, really,” He assured with a fake smile. With a single look from MJ, Peter knew he’d been caught lying. He sighed, “Okay, fine. I was in the hospital last night. Couple broken ribs, shattered wrist, hence the cast, and severe bruising to my thighs and torso. Also, I was raped.” He told her blatantly. 

MJ looked like she was going to cry and murder someone all at once before taking a deep breath and holding Peter’s hand. “I’d say I’m sorry but I know you hate that.” She laughed softly. 

Peter laughed softly with her, nodding and squeezing her hand weakly. “Thanks.” 

 

Wade watched intently from a good distance away, really only seeing MJ and her reactions as the two talked. She seemed nice, but Wade didn’t really trust anyone besides Peter that he hadn’t known for long. How could he? This boy; this sweet innocent boy was being abused right under everyone’s noses! Who wouldn’t see what was going on?! He’s obviously going to school and home and work sore and covered in bruises! Why doesn’t anyone care?! 

Suddenly there’s a hand on Wade’s shoulder. In a split second, he spun around to the slightly frightened eyes of his partner. “Buck, Jesus. Don’t do that to me,” He breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he watched Wade for a minute, “Hey, why don’t you go home? Get some rest, I can watch the kid.” He assured.  

“No, I can. Really, it’s fine. You should head home to Steve, Buck. ‘M sure he misses you.” He assured with a small smile, patting Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, Wade. I think I will head home, actually. You should at least get some sleep if you don’t go home.” He suggested, hugging Wade tight before walking out of the building. 

Yeah, there was no way in hell Wade was being in a different building from the kid at least. He wasn’t going to leave him alone to be scared or faking anything. He did need to let out some steam, though, so he decided to head to the gym Bucky had convinced them to put in, and straight to the punching bags, slipping gloves on. 

He took a few practice hits to the center of the bag once he got into his stance, then a couple harder ones, and a few more. Soon he was red-faced and letting out all his anger into his bag until it crashes to the ground. Wade was barely breaking a sweat, not even panting. He turned around to pick up another bag but stops cold when he saw Peter. 

“Hey,” He breathed, tossed his gloves on the floor as he hooked another bag up. “Did your friend leave?” He asked, mainly because he didn’t see the red-head trailing him. 

Peter just gawked at Wade for a minute before swallowing, closing his mouth, and nodding. “Yeah, she left...” He murmured, still in shock at the sheer force it took to knock down the hundred-pound sack of sand. “Um, how did you... ya’ know, do that?” He asked softly, fingers playing with the sweats Wade had given him a couple hours earlier at the hospital. 

 

Wade tilted his head for a minute before chuckling, realizing Peter was only so shocked because of how hard he would have had to hit the bag. “When you want to join any kind of police or protection force, especially the army, they train you. Because you need to be able to defend yourself,” He explained before stopping himself, seeing Peter’s head fall a little, “Here, I’ll teach you.” He smiled, seeing Peter light up and grab the gloves. The boy slipped one on his uninjured hand, letting his casted arm fall to his side as the other glove laid discarded to the floor. 

Wade set Peter into position facing himself with pads on his hands to train him first before letting him let loose on the sack. “Alright, whichever hand I hold up, you hit that one with your good hand as quick and hard as you can, alright?” Peter nodded. 

Wade held up his right hand, before he could raise it completely it was hit by a smiling Peter. Wade nodded and hummed, impressed. He stepped forward and back as he held up his hands, watching Peter’s feet move just like his own. 

After an hour Wade decided to let Peter take a shot at the punching bag, assuring him that it takes years of practice and skill to break the actual bag. But, sure enough, his words came and bit him in the ass. 

Peter, being the master of surprises even within the first twenty-four hours of knowing Wade, had giving a few light punches to the bag before he went to town. He hit as hard as he could, as fast as he could, putting everything he had into the punches and several kicks until one ripped the sack open, sand spilled everywhere as he grinned triumphantly, panting heavily.  

Wade looked wide-eyed to the boy, who had the  _widest_  grin plastered onto his face. A face that was so bright red you almost couldn’t see the bruises on it and dark circles under his eyes from sleep-deprivation. He slowly moved his hand to Peter before lightly patting his shoulder. “I had no clue you would actually do that.” He confessed, chuckling and looking between Peter and the pile of sand at their feet.  

“Come on, let’s get out of here, kid. Let Bucky clean it up later.” They laughed softly at that and Wade noticed how Peter didn’t grab his side when he laughed.  _Good,_  He thought,  _His ribs are letting him move and laugh now. Progress_. “You hungry?” Wade asked, receiving a small nod, “Good. I’m starving. It’s like noon? You slept a few good hours.” He chuckled.  

Peter giggled softly and nodded, hands in his sweatpants pockets. “Can we go to Denny’s? They had the best omelets and I need breakfast foods.” He murmured quietly. 

Wade beamed, “I love Denny’s! Hells yes we can go!” He grinned, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders gently. “Here, let’s get you a good pair of shoes instead of socks, yeah?” Peter nodded as Wade took them to the evidence locker.  

“Are we allowed to be in here?” Peter whispered, crouching behind a crate, not wanting to get in trouble. 

Wade pulled out a tub of shoes as he tried not to notice the adorableness of the teen, chuckling and shaking his head fondly instead. “I can be, I’ve put half this stuff here. Come on, take a pair. It’s just random shoes that have been left. We don’t exactly have a lost-and-found.” He shrugged. 

Peter squinted at Wade skeptically for a moment before he stood, walking to a bin and looking in it. He dug around for a few minutes until he pulled out a pair of red and white Vans high-tops, slipping them on and smiling when they fit perfectly. 

“Well aren’t you a lucky duck,” Wade purred out as he put the bin away, wrapping his arm around the teen’s shoulder again as he snatched his car keys off his desk and brought Peter outside.  

Peter gasped sharply at the brittle cold, curling into himself until Wade wrapped a jacket around his small shoulders, holding him close. “T-Thanks.... thin shirt and bruises in Manhattan cold weather d-don't mix w-well,” He shuddered, leaning into Wade the whole drive to Denny’s and even in the booth in the corner, facing away from everyone as they ate an omelet (Peter) and a triple order of bacon pancakes (Wade). 

Wade had finished his triple order sooner than any normal person would have, and Peter just picked at his food, which made the detective worry. 

“Hey,” He nudged the boy’s arm. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, “You’ve barely touched your food.” 

Peter shrugged slightly, dropping the fork and leaning into Wade more. “I woke up tied to a bed completely naked, beaten, and drugged only a few hours ago. I was told I was raped when I woke up in a hospital after barely consciously calling 9-1-1. My boyfriend raped and beat me until I was near death, and I scared the holy hell out of my best friends and my aunt, all of which now know I was being raped and abused for years.” He sighed, “Other than that, I’m fine.” 

Wade frowned, combing his fingers through the kid’s hair and smiled faintly when he pressed back into the touch. “We’ll catch him, okay? Meanwhile, why don’t you stay with me? I have a place in northern Manhattan, nice big apartment with lots of food, wi-fi...” He trailed off seeing Peter’s bright smile. “Nice comfy beds or a couch, whichever you prefer.” Wade smiled softly, “Sound good?” 

Peter nodded, smiling up at Wade. “Yeah, sounds good.” 


	2. Skip

“Well, this is it,” Wade hummed as he pushed the apartment door open, unveiling a spacious living room-kitchen combo. 

Peter gawked in awe at the cavernous room. He was only in one part of the detective’s apartment, but he felt like he was in a mansion compared to the spaces he’d been living in most of his life. “ _You live here?!”_  

Wade chuckled as he watched the boy gaze in amazement at the simple mediocrity of it all. “Yeah, I’ve lived here for a few years.” He shrugged, glancing at all the misplaced books, notepads, loose paper, and loads of other odds and ends. It wasn’t a lot to him but it was home, and he was glad to share it with someone else, even if it didn’t mean quite the same.

Peter gazed wide-eyed at everything, asking question after question until Wade gave in and reluctantly toured him around the apartment.

Peter slowed when Wade skipped over the bedroom, it was like his heart had to do a double-take. As he brushed passed the room he glanced inside, the door cracked open. Suddenly memories flooded his brain and he was down on the ground shaking. Every memory of a bed, of being in bed alone and with someone else, anything bad all came flooding back, from the abuse and even earlier. Peter struggled to regain his composure as the walls in his mind collapsed around him, suffocating him.

In a split second, though, Wade was on the ground with him. He pulled the teen into his arms, holding him close and rocking him back and forth, his hold tight but gentle as he kept the boy against his chest. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you here. Breathe, Peter. Just breathe.” He soothed over and over, like a mantra. He rubbed Peter’s back, fingers dragging up and down his spine gently and soon Peter relaxed into the touch. 

The boy’s tight grasp on Wade’s shirt as loosened and now wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes were still wet, but they weren’t pouring. His breath was still shaky, and uneven, but not broken. Not ever broken.

Wade didn’t move, just kept Peter close and safe, rubbing his back in small circles, playing with his hair. They stayed like this for a while, until Wade’s phone started vibrating. He sighed softly and patted Peter’s back comfortingly as he pulled away. “You can look around, nothing’s off limits,” he assured, “My home is your home, Peter.” 

Peter beamed and stood, looking around in awe as Wade stood, making his way to the balcony the apartment had, answering his phone. “Detective Wilson.”

Peter found his way into Wade’s bedroom after looking through the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the spare bedroom. He glanced around the master bedroom; there were limited decorations of any kind, barely anything to distinguish it from a room no one lived in, except a framed photograph on the nightstand. As Peter stepped closer, he realized it was Wade with his arm around a girl. She was laughing and Wade was half between making some ridiculous face and laughing right with her, making the photo timing hysterical. 

Wade stopped in the doorway when he realized Peter was in the room, and not only that but he was looking at the photo. He swallowed and stepped inside a bit, “That’s Vanessa.”

Peter jumped slightly at the suddenness of the other’s voice and his presence, glancing at the photo again before back to Wade like a scolded puppy. “I-”

Wade waved his hand to dismiss whatever Peter was about to say. “Kid, it’s okay. I left it out, you’re free to look at it.” He assured, ignoring the prick of pain in his chest.

The teen glanced at the photo one last time, “Is she your girlfriend?” He asked curiously, instantly regretting it when he saw the pain flash over the other man’s face. “I’m sorry, I just, I assumed-?”

Wade, again, waved him off as he sat on the edge of the bed, patting the bed for Peter to sit down on also (which he did). “She’s my ex now, but yeah when it was taken, I was with her. This was a month before I was diagnosed...”

Peter instantly felt bad for Wade. He wanted to apologize and say that cancer sucks, but he’d probably had enough of that, and the endless prayers. “Are you still diagnosed?” He asked instead, knowing some people don’t ask anything about the cancer a person has even though it’ll probably make them feel better that they can talk and vent about it. 

“No, I was diagnosed NEC, No Evidence of Cancer, about a year ago. But that was after Vanessa said  _she_  couldn’t deal with  _my_  cancer and left me.” He shrugged, putting the photo back on the table, but face-down this time.

“You don’t have to answer this, but why do you still have it?” 

Wade paused, mulling it over. “Um, I don’t know really. I used to have it for comfort, but now it’s just painful. Which I guess is why I don’t sleep in here much...” He murmured quietly.

Peter opened his mouth to add something else but Wade cut him off, changing the subject and his tone, “Well, getting off that topic, why don’t you get your stuff put away in the spare and then we can watch a movie? Or you can go to sleep if you’d like, your pick.” He offered with a forced smile Peter recognized too well from his own reflection.

Instead of calling him out on the fake happiness, he nodded and smiled in return, genuinely compared to Wade’s forced one. He hugged Wade tightly, thanking him, before rushing off to unpack. 

“What movie!” Wade called as he turned on Netflix to search for something the kid would like.

“Star Wars IV!” Peter hollered back before running out of the spare room, sliding on the couch beside Wade as he started the movie.

The two couldn’t have been halfway through the movie before Wade made popcorn and got them a warm fuzzy blanket. Peter ended up in Wade’s lap curled up watching the movie as they snuggled a little until they fell asleep there; Peter curled up with his arms around Wade’s middle, now laying down on the couch, and Wade with his arms around Peter’s back gently, one occasionally playing with the boy’s hair.

Not often did either of them get the domesticity of a life like this or even a taste of what this would be, but this was one of those rare moments. The rain pitter-pattering on the window panes in the apartment lulling them to sleep along with the sweet monotonous tones of the news Wade was turned it to once Peter dozed off.

The two lived like this for six months. They found no good leads on Peter’s abuser and, surprisingly, Peter didn’t seem to care. He seemed happy, on the outside at least. Whenever Wade thought something was off and asked what was wrong Peter insisted that he was okay, so as far as he knew, Peter was doing great. 

Wade had been trying to balance his time at work and his time at home with Peter since he didn’t want to go to the precinct. He’d gotten Peter a phone and paid for it so the two wouldn’t have to wait hours to talk. Except Peter has begun sending Wade pointless, although funny, detective memes while he’s at work.

But today is different. Wade doesn’t know why, but something feels...off. Which is why he nearly doesn’t let Peter come with him to the grocery store to pick up  _more_  food because apparently, Wade let a black hole of snack foods live in his home.

“I still can’t believe you ate  _all_  the food while I was at work.” Wade huffed in amusement as they stepping inside the store. He cast a lop-sided grin to Peter who was still laughing softly.

“I can’t help that I’m a snack food black hole!” The boy laughed and grabbed them a cart as they began to wheel through the aisles.

Wade chuckled at the other as he pushed the cart around the corner of an aisle and into another, this one filled with cereal and lots of bagged or boxed grain items, and one other customer who seemed to be debating between cereals. Wade hummed as he walked down the aisle, gazing over the millions of cereal brands, each barely carrying from the other in contents while the logos and colors varied dramatically. “Hey, Pete, Choco Chunk Supreme or Double Fudge Nightmare for a cereal?” He asked, pausing a moment for a response and hearing none. “Peter, did you run off to the snacks again?” He huffed before turning to look for him, finding the boy only a mere foot away but looking absolutely terrified. 

Wade took a step closer to Peter, both men now within inches. He rested a hand slowly and gently on Peter’s forearm so the kid would look at him. Peter’s eyes slowly peeled away from the other man in the aisle and locked on Wade. “Hey, kid, you okay?” Wade whispered, rubbing his arm with his thumb gently.

The man turned around upon hearing Peter’s named called. “Peter?” He nearly whispered. The man was a platinum blonde and was wearing a disgustingly smug shit-eating grin as he stepped closer to the two. He turned to Wade, holding out a hand, “I’m Steven. Petey calls me Skip; don’t ya Pete?” He purred out, smiling at Peter so sickeningly it made his stomach flip.

Wade kept his hand on Peter’s arm, not even acknowledging Skip’s presence as he focused on Peter. He knew who Skip was, judging on Peter’s reaction to the man smiling at him and the fact that he saw the boy become  _visibly_  sick. 

Skip wrapped an arm around Peter, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Still the same, aren’t you pretty boy? Still can’t work up the courage to talk to me?” He sneered.

Wade’s free hand contracted into a fist over and over as he tried to steady his breathing. He glanced at Peter who looked like he feared for his life. That was it. Wade pushed Skip away from Peter and stepped between them, stretching his hands so his knuckles cracked and popped. 

Skip laughed and smirked at Wade, “What, you baby boy’s bodyguard now? He can’t fight back still? Good, maybe someone else can take my place to touch him.” He sneered again, peeking at Peter who then took off running towards the door.

Wade sneered back this time, popping his knuckles once more before winding back and taking a swing, his fist connecting with Skip’s jaw, making him stumble backward. Wade took a few steps closer, then a few more, then more, each time making Skip back up frightenedly. “Don’t ever look at, talk to, think about Peter Parker ever again or so help me I will do everything to you that you have done to him, and then I’ll give you life in prison so you can have much stronger men do that to you too. Maybe then you’ll understand why this isn’t fucking okay! Maybe then you’ll understand how much fear _that child_ has been living with because of you, you sick fuck!” He boomed, making nearly every head in the grocery store turn and watch as Skip ran off. 

Applause flooded Wade for what he’d done, each of them having seen the terrified look on the sweet boy’s face. But Wade was too busy trying to find Peter. He spent a few minutes wandering the store before he thought to look outside. 

Peter sat curled up on the cement against the outside wall of the store, knees hugged to his chest and face buried in his legs as he shook, either from the cold or from fear Wade couldn’t tell. He stepped closer to Peter and slowly put a hand on the kid’s back as he crouched beside him. Within seconds Peter turned, unraveled himself, and lunged into Wade’s arms with silent tears dripping down his face.

Wade held him tightly, but not too tight, still being mindful of his injuries. He rubbed his back comfortingly as he walked them to the subway station to go home. Peter didn’t leave Wade’s side the rest of the night. He stayed glued to his side near silently until the two fell asleep in a pile of limbs, blankets, pillows, and snack foods Bucky had graciously dropped off for them. They fell asleep watching some James Bond movie, Peter’s head in Wade’s lap and Wade’s fingers in the boy’s hair. He’d been playing with it to comfort him since Peter had confessed, one of the only times they talked after the incident at the store, that it helped calm him down and that it had since he was a kid.

Wade woke to his phone going off several hours later. Not wanting to wake Peter, he answered quickly although it was- what the hell time was it? Wade held the phone away and looked at the time. Great, barely past midnight. His sleep schedule is going to be so messed up. “What.” He grumbled into the phone quietly when he answered.

“Wade, we got a hit on Peter’s abuser. We passed around the photo of him Peter gave us to places and people around town. We just got him going into his apartment building.” Bucky’s rushed voice on the other line informed along with the muffled chatter of other cops and the soft clicks of guns being cleaned and reloaded.

Wade sat up straight, cursing himself for not laying Peter down in bed when he’d fallen asleep a few hours ago. He slowly moved Peter’s face out of his lap and onto a soft pillow, covering him with a blanket before silently slipping his shoes on as he scribbled a note for Peter, “Text me the address, I’ll be there in ten.”

Wade jogged from his car, up the staircases, and into the hallway with Skip’s apartment door. He was met by Bucky, Detective Maximoff and Sergeant Romanoff in the hallway who all had their guns out just in case. Wade entered first, scoping the place out until he found the puke staring at the empty bed in the bedroom. There were zip ties on all four corners and droplets of blood around the middle that made Wade want to shoot him right there and then. Instead, he grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back with the other as he cuffed him, “Steven Westcott you are under arrest for the abuse and rape of Peter Parker. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You also have the right to an attorney. If you do not have one the state will provide one for you.” He recited his rights as he brought him downstairs and shoved him into the cruiser.

Peter woke half an hour after Wade left, yawning and stretching on the couch. “Mh, Wade-” He stopped when he realized the other wasn’t there, furrowing his brows as he looked around before seeing the post-it on the remote. 

_Work call had to go. There’s cereal in the cupboard, bowls, and spoons in the drawer if you need something to eat. Otherwise, I have PB &J for a _ _sandwich. Left a phone – turned on and paid for – and put my number in there for you. Text me when you wake up._

_Good morning sleepy head ~ Wade_

Peter smiled softly at the note. He found the iPhone by the remotes and turned it on, finding it open to Wade’s contact ID, and typed up a quick message.

**[Text; Detect. Wilson]**

**Hey Wade, I’m up. BTW, do you always cuddle and ditch your dates? ; p**

Wade was too busy scowling at Skip to be torn away by his phone vibrating on his desk a few rooms away. He got the man processed and in an interrogation room immediately.

Bucky caught Wade a little later in the training room as he tore open another punching bag of sand. “You think you could hit that any harder?” He mused from the doorway, watching Wade.

“You think you could get that piece of shit in jail any faster?” Wade shot back, completely unamused as he hung up another bag and went to town on it.

Bucky sighed and took a few steps closer to Wade, enough to reach out and touch him, but he didn’t. He knew better than to do that when Wade was angry. “Wade, what happened to that kid was terrible, but you can’t let this guy throw you off your game, you-”

Bucky stopped as Wade turned around, his eyes stone cold as they bore into Bucky’s eyes and his very  _soul_  it seemed like. Wade held the glare for a few moments before brushing past him, making his way around a few corners and down different hallways to the interrogation room that Steven was in.

Wade slammed the door shut behind him and propped a chair up under the door handle to keep it from being opened as he took a seat across from the man who was handcuffed to a chair.

“So,” Wade began, taking away the coffee cup that had been given to him as a professional courtesy and moving it across the table where he couldn’t get it. “You like raping and abusing boys who can’t fight back, huh?” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning in and squinting at the other man.

Skip shifted a little in his seat, scoffed, and turned his head away from Wade. That only seemed to make Wade more determined to get an answer, by any means necessary. 

Wade set his arms on the table flat down so the other could see his bloody knuckles through the guard tape he hadn’t even bothered to take off. 

Skip eyed them before looking at Wade with a huff, “You think some fake blood on your knuckles is going to scare me? Or make me believe that you’ll hit me?” He seemed amused, not for long though as Wade stood and wailed a punch into the brick wall. There was a distinct  _*crack*pop*_  that followed Wade’s grunt, along with a significant dent. There was no doubt he had a couple broken knuckles, but he didn’t care. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. It did, however, get a reaction from the man at the table. 

Skip shifted again, away from Wade this time, as he swallowed. Oh yeah, he was scared. That’s all the leverage Wade needed, that pure fear.

With an all-too-evil grin, Wade stretched his hand he’d previously hit the wall with like it didn’t even faze him, patted Skip’s shoulders with his bloody hands, and walked out, down the hall, and to the brisk October air of upper Manhattan to drive himself to the hospital.


End file.
